I have always hated Christmas. It has represented this forced idea of family perfection to me. And like most things connected to my childhood has always made me feel inadequate. I was pretty far from the perfect child in a wildly imperfect family. I swear that even at eight years old I knew that the forced family time was most CERTAINLY not for me.
My response to my previous experience has been to stop exchanging gifts in my family. I figured it would lower the pressure threshold for everyone. We instead roll dice and win our gifts. The gifts then are not so much the focus and the family time is. No one really cares if they win Silly Putty and Antonio Banderas cologne. It's just that we laugh and joke and play for a few hours as friends and feel beloved.
This year I spent my first Christmas with the Bulldogge, the Irish Pope, an the rest of their family. Let me admit this: When we left, I cried. In my entire married life I never unwrapped a present except from my son. I had never received a gift from my in- laws. I bought my own gifts from the Right Wing King. In fact, I do not believe that I have received a gift that I didn't pick since Son was born.
It hit me hard to feel love. It surprised me to be thought of and appreciated and liked. I wanted to hug my new mother and sister in law hard and never ever let go. I wanted to express how special they had made me feel. For once I wanted to spill the beans about what my life had been. Mostly because I know that it wouldn't matter and that my MIL would just have held me and rocked me until I was cried out and then fed me a cookie.
So I have learned about what I was missing. I am figuring out how awesome this family can be. There are safe people beyond Son, BMD, The Tiger, and UB. I am a lucky, lucky, lucky girl. Not only do I get the awesome guy, I get the love of his family as well.
Well, this is one of the giant steps I am taking in owning my life. Accepting that I am love worthy. And not just by a man. By many.
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